Call of Skyrim
by Dark Cryo
Summary: After surviving the events of "Loose Ends", Ghost and Roach are mysteriously transported to a strange new land- Skyrim, a province of Tamriel. What sort of new adventures await them? Rated M for violence and swearing.
1. A New Beginning

**Disclaimer- I do not own the Call of Duty franchise (specifically Modern Warfare 2) or the Elder Scrolls franchise (specifically Skyrim). In fact, I don't think I own anything in this story... but this is why we have fanfiction in the first place, am I right?**

**Author's Notes- What can I say? I liked MW2, and I liked Skyrim, so one day I thought to myself, "Hurr durr what would happen if I made some kind of crossover story?"... So here we are. And I swear that I'm not going to post anymore stories (okay, maybe one more) until I finish at least one of my current projects.**

**Side note: I don't know how long each of these chapters will be, and I don't really care. Some might be short, some might be long; but in the end, I'm aiming for pure quality over quantity. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

**[Day 6 - 15:58:44]**

**[Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson]**

**[Task Force 141]**

**[Georgian-Russian Border]**

"Roach, I'll cover you! Go!"

Sergeant Gary "Roach" Sanderson was sure living up to his callsign. In the past four days he had nearly plummeted off a frozen cliff to his death, jumped over a gaping chasm in a snowmobile, been attacked by dogs which were more than likely rabid, helped capture an extremely dangerous arms dealer who provided ammunition for an even more dangerous terrorist in his plan to slaughter an entire airport full of civilians and blame the U.S. afterward, sprinted through a Brazilian favela unarmed while militiamen shot at him, infiltrated an oil rig in the middle of nowhere, fought through a Russian gulag to capture a high-value prisoner who turned out to be his captain's old mentor, was nearly shot by said mentor, accompanied said mentor on what he initially thought was a mission to capture a Russian base, only to learn that their real objective was to launch a missile which would unleash an EMP burst over the eastern U.S. to help stave off an invading army; and now, he and three other surviving Task Force 141 members were sprinting along the Georgian-Russian border to reach an LZ and drop off valuable data containing information on the whereabouts of the terrorists' leader, Vladimir Makarov, while being shot at yet again by more Ultranationalist soldiers. All in all, he had survived a whole lot of crap so far.

Damn Russia for having such a huge population.

When he finally reached a clearing in the forest where the LZ was located, Roach couldn't help but notice that the only other person to exit the woods with him was his mission partner and unofficial best friend, Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. Out of all the people Roach had worked with, Ghost had left one of the best impressions on him, having fought at Roach's side for the majority of his most recent missions. The man was a godsend.

Scarecrow and Ozone didn't emerge into the clearing. Roach felt an unwanted yet all-too-familiar sensation of fear and regret brewing in his gut, mixed with the slightest hope that perhaps his two other comrades had merely gotten separated from them and had fled deeper into the forest to seek cover from the Ultranationalist assault. He didn't have much time to dwell on that thought, however, as he spotted a Little Bird and a Pave Low helicopter flying over the clearing ahead of him.

That's when the mortar hit.

* * *

When his vision returned and the horrible ringing in his ears had died down somewhat, Roach slowly came to realize that he was practically being dragged along by someone else toward the LZ. He was by no means a genius, but Roach knew that he had been shell-shocked- almost getting blown to pieces by a mortar round tends to do that to people. The fact that everything he saw was shifting in and out of focus, accompanied by the still-present ringing sound, only proved to confirm what he already knew.

"I've got you, Roach, hang on!" Ghost's voice called to him. "Thunder Two-One, I've popped red smoke in the treeline! Standby to engage on my mark!"

_"Roger that. I have a visual on the red smoke. Standing by."_ the Little Bird pilot responded.

"Thunder Two-One, cleared hot! Roach, take this and help provide covering fire!"

_"Roger that, cleared hot."_

Ghost shoved something into Roach's hands; upon closer inspection it turned out to be an AK-47 Grenadier assault rifle. Where he had gotten it from, Roach didn't know, and he certainly wasn't in any condition to ask or complain about it. The Task Force 141 operative fired the weapon on full auto to repel the advancing Russians while Thunder Two-One unleashed hell on any hostiles in its sightline.

"Roach, hang in there!"

The Pave Low smoothly and efficiently descended to the ground while Roach continued to shoot. Hauling his wounded friend upright, Ghost trudged towards the helicopter while its boarding ramp began to lower. General Shepherd, American war hero and one of the founders of Task Force 141, stepped out to observe the situation in front of him, casually smoking a cigar as if what he was seeing was all perfectly normal. In his line of work, it probably was.

"Come on, get up! Get up! Get up! We're almost there!" Ghost insisted urgently.

Roach acknowledged his fellow soldier with a small grunt of pain. All around the two, radio chatter from Shadow Company, Shepherd's personal black ops squad, could be heard over the constant gunfire.

_"Gold Eagle's on the ground. Watch for snipers on thermal, over."_

_"Roger that. All targets destroyed."_

_"Move! Move! Spread out!"_

_"Go go go!"_

_I wonder if Archer and Toad made it out alright,_ Roach pondered to himself, thinking of the two snipers who had provided invaluable fire support during and after the trek to Makarov's safe house.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, the duo finally reached Shepherd's Pave Low. The General approached them with a stern face that clearly meant business.

"Do you have the DSM?" he asked bluntly.

"We got it, sir!" Ghost responded triumphantly as Roach weakly tossed the data drive over. Shepherd caught it in one hand, examining it for a moment, before returning his attention to the two Brits standing in front of him.

"Good. That's one less loose end."

Pocketing the DSM, Shepherd unholstered his signature .44 magnum and pointed it directly at Roach.

_What is he-?_

BANG!

_"__**NO!**__"_

BANG!

Never in his entire twenty-six years of existence had Roach felt this kind of pain before. The bullet easily tore through his bodysuit, puncturing the delicate flesh underneath before proceeding to rip apart any bones and internal organs caught in its deadly path. He didn't feel it exit out his back, but that was beside the point. So great was the sheer force of the impact that Roach was knocked off his feet and thrown backwards onto the hard ground under him.

Ghost had fared far worse. In the second it took for his comrade to fall, the lieutenant raised his ACR with the full intention to end the life of the man who had so easily snuffed out his closest friend's vitality, only to take a second bullet straight to his chest. Ghost collapsed in a broken heap.

The disembodied voices of Shadow Company continued to echo over the radio channel as several soldiers picked up the still forms and carried them over to a small ditch.

_"Area sanitized. All targets destroyed."_

_"Solid copy. No movement detected. 2-6 going into holding pattern."_

The nameless troops unceremoniously dumped the two bodies in the ditch, further aggravating the already unbearable pain coursing through Roach's abdomen. From where he landed, the sergeant saw Ghost's limp form thrown in next to his.

Captain Price's voice suddenly emerged over the comms, heavy with both static and desperation.

_"Ghost! Ghost, come in, this is Price! We're under attack by Shepherd's men at the boneyard! Soap, hold the left flank! Do not trust Shepherd! I say again, do_ not _trust Shepherd! Soap, get down!-"_

The tranmission ended abruptly. Roach could only pray silently that his superiors would make it out alive, even as another Shadow Company goon began dousing his and Ghost's bodies with a thick, foul-smelling liquid. Gasoline.

The sound of footsteps crunching on dry grass could be heard approaching. Weakly, the operative lifted his head to witness the traitorous General he had trusted up until now standing over him, a tiny smirk creasing his aged face- a face Roach so furiously wanted to fill with bullets or buckshot, yet was powerless to do so.

"Shame that it has to end this way," Shepherd sighed, his smirk disappearing. "You and Riley... you were both good men. But you were getting too close to the end; to finishing this war early. Let me tell you something: World War III isn't going to be won by Task Force 141. It isn't going to be won by England, or Germany, or even Russia, or any other military on this planet except one: America's. _Mine_. When this is all over, and Makarov is nothing more than dust beneath my boot, the entire world will know that the United States is once more a superpower. Invincible, just as we were before."

Shepherd pulled out his cigar and blew a steady breath of smoke. With one final glance at his two former henchmen, he flicked the lit cigar into the pit. The gasoline ignited instantly, bathing Simon Riley and Gary Sanderson in all-consuming flames.

Shepherd turned around to leave for the Pave Low, but not before adding the last touch of insult to injury.

"By the way, I'm only telling you this because you're going to be dead in a matter of minutes, maybe less. Say hello to the big man upstairs for me."

* * *

That insult, that mockery, that single last jab at his pride and soul was what did it for Roach. Even as Shepherd's Pave Low took off in the direction of Afghanistan, the sergeant mustered all of his willpower to summon the strength necessary to slowly and agonizingly pull himself out of the fire. He first flipped onto his stomach, ignoring the screams of protest from his shredded insides and blistered hands, before crawling to the edge of the pit inch by inch. To the wounded soldier, it was taking forever, and every second he spent engulfed in the fire only worsened the pure torture he was already enduring.

At long last, he felt cold dirt under his touch instead of burning soil, indicating that he had reached the edge of the hellish ditch.

_I... will not... die... today!_

Screaming in pain, Roach gave one final heave and lurched forward out of the pit. After taking a moment to breath in the clean, crisp Russian air instead of the toxic gasoline fumes, he fumbled with his belt and clumsily unclipped a smoke grenade. With what little knowledge of chemistry he remembered, the baking soda contained in the grenade would initially disperse across a given radius, before coalescing into a thick white smoke cloud. In addition to marking targets for air support and blinding enemies in its vicinity, the smoke cloud could theoretically extinguish even the most stubborn blazes. Roach tossed the grenade in the pit where his friend was burning alive and hoped for a miracle.

Much to his pleasant surprise, it seemed that the universe was done being malevolent for at least a little while. The grenade exploded harmlessly, and just as he had predicted, the resulting smoke cloud effortlessly extinguished the horrible fire. Still in pain but determined to ignore it, Roach slowly crawled back into the pit to check up on Ghost's wounds. The man was dead in all likelihood, but Roach refused to give up just yet; they had gotten out of stickier situations before and lived to tell about it. As the sergeant crawled closer, his nose picked up the disgusting scent of gasoline mixed with what he could only assume was burnt flesh. The smell nearly made him throw up under his balaclava.

Taking a moment to toss the still-smoking grenade away with one hand, Roach at last reached Ghost's unmoving body and began to apply standard medical training. First and foremost, check for breathing and a heartbeat. Roach discarded his helmet and pressed his ear against Ghost's chest, while at the same time grabbing the lieutenant's wrist to check his pulse.

Ghost wasn't breathing. Despite his mounting horror, the younger soldier detected a faint pulse- it was barely noticeable, but it was there. His friend could still be saved.

Roach placed both hands over Ghost's chest, ignoring the blood seeping in between his fingers from the bullet wound, and began to perform CPR. He pushed hard against his chest five times in quick succession, then removed Ghost's skull-patterned balaclava and breathed two deep lungfuls of air into him. By itself, CPR was unlikely to actually revive Ghost, but what other choices did he have?

Roach repeated this procedure again, then three times, then four. The fifth time around and Roach was dreading that his friend was going to live up to his own callsign. Those feelings soon vanished on his sixth attempt.

Ghost suddenly gasped for breath and lunged forward so quickly that Roach was thrown off-balance. The lieutenant collapsed back onto the grass, wheezing pitifully and grabbing his shattered collarbone in immense pain. Roach breathed an audible sigh of relief, feeling his own pain returning now that the adrenaline coursing through his veins was beginning to wear off.

"Ugh... Roach... what the bloody hell just happened?" Ghost coughed, still laying on the ground and facing the clear sky above.

"Shepherd went rogue, that's what happened." Roach stated bluntly.

He thought he saw Ghost's eyes widen under those dark red sunglasses he loved so much. "That sorry son of a bitch... Wait till I get my hands on him!..."

He attempted to sit upright, but a sudden coughing fit forced him back down.

"You're in no condition to walk," Roach said tiredly.

"No shit, Captain Obvious... Hey, I just realized something. Since when did you find your tongue?" Ghost asked.

He had a point; throughout his military career Roach had never said much to anyone, preferring to write down his thoughts in a journal he always kept in his back pocket. By some miracle the journal hadn't been burned to ash in the fire, something that Roach was very thankful for. He'd had it since he was a kid growing up in Nottingham.

Roach shrugged. "You know me by now; actions over words. Speaking of discoveries, I think this is the first time I've seen your actual face under the mask."

Ghost laughed, and Roach was alarmed when he saw flecks of blood splatter over his uniform. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking, I really need to shave..."

"Enough joking, we need to get out of here." Roach declared, shakily standing up before helping Ghost to his feet. He slung the wounded man's arm around his shoulder, and couldn't help but feel a sense of irony at their situation: Ghost had supported him while walking into the clearing, and now he was helping Ghost to get _out _of said clearing. However, the moment he was upright, Ghost broke out into another severe coughing fit and clutched his bleeding chest in a tender hold.

"God dammit..."

"Stay still, let me see that," Roach said worriedly, examining the injury. The bullet from Shepherd's revolver had missed his heart by centimeters, but the bloody tunnel it left behind probably ended in someplace else that was important. It was most likely a lung, but there was no way for him to know for sure.

Ghost coughed again, unintentionally spitting more blood onto Roach's clothes. The latter operative quickly bent down to pick up his friend's signature balaclava, handing it back to its owner.

"Here, cough into this... shit, man, we need to get you to a hospital ASAP!"

If that bullet had lodged itself where he thought it did...

"There isn't a hospital around for miles," Ghost wheezed into the facemask. "And I don't mean to be a downer, but things are looking pretty grim... I mean, we're in the middle of nowhere, with no working radio... I honestly can't figure out how we're going to get out of this one alive."

Roach looked at his comrade carefully, then down at his own burned and bloodstained clothes. "Well I don't know about you, but I think we've at least earned the right to try."

"You really are one stubborn little cockroach, you know that?" Ghost teased.

"Euro for every time I've heard that joke," Roach muttered under his breath. "Listen to me, chances are that the captains are in real danger out there in Afghanistan. If Shepherd kills them, he'll spin a web of lies about purging any traitors in the 141 and how America is once again the greatest thing in the world since sliced bread, or whatever kind of bullshit he comes up with. We need to stop that from happening. I don't know how we'll do it, or even if we can get some medical help beforehand, but I know for certain that we shouldn't just stay here doing nothing while so many madmen are on the loose."

Ghost looked his best friend right in the eye. "Then lead on."

* * *

"Okay, why the hell are we back at Makarov's safehouse?" Ghost questioned, sitting at a small table in the cabin's kitchen. Meanwhile Roach was scurrying around the place, stockpiling weapons in the living room, checking maps, and searching for a first aid station.

"This is probably the only building around for miles in any direction. If we want to get you to a hospital, we need to get ourselves stabilized first before we drive there. Also, I found a truck out front that still has gas in the tank; we can use that to escape when we're ready." Roach explained as he entered the room. He tossed a bottle of pills over. "Here. I found these painkillers in the upstairs bathroom. You need them more than I do."

"Never thought I'd turn to drugs to solve my problems," Ghost muttered half-jokingly, thinking back to the time he had returned home from the military only to find his family in tatters. His brother Tommy, in particular, had developed a strong addiction to painkillers and other medications.

Roach sat down in an adjacent chair and sighed heavily. "Yeah. I'll give Shadow Company credit; they weren't kidding when they said they'd neutralized all hostiles. Things could've gotten ugly real fast if we found any surviving Russians on the way back here."

"Mhm." Ghost unscrewed the cap and popped a couple of the chewable pills in his mouth, then slid the bottle across the table to Roach. He lightly kicked a corpse laying nearby. "They did a shitty job at cleaning up afterwards, though."

"Are you always such a comedian when you aren't getting shot at?" Roach asked sarcastically.

Ghost shrugged. "You have your ways of coping with reality, I have mine. Let's leave it at that."

"Right..."

Roach didn't sound satisfied with his answer, but thankfully didn't press the matter any further. Truth was, Ghost had never told his friend about his abysmal childhood and the years he spent in the military before joining Task Force 141. It wasn't a happy story, and Ghost secretly feared that if Roach ever found out, he would shun him as a psychopath.

On the other hand, he knew next to nothing about Roach's past, either. Their friendship was more like a mutual camaraderie, forged on the battlefield as they fought side by side.

His thoughts were interrupted as Roach got up from his chair, grunting and clutching his abdomen in pain as he disappeared back into the living room. Seems those painkillers needed a few extra minutes to work their magic.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Ghost called.

"Shut up and rest!"

"I think I liked you better when you didn't talk," the lieutenant muttered.

Roach returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, carrying a large gun bag over his shoulder along with several miscellaneous household items in his belt. He noisily dropped the bag on the floor before collapsing back into his seat. The soldier fished a small plastic tube out of his belt and tossed it to Ghost; upon closer inspection, it turned out to be skin ointment specifically designed to treat burns.

"Try not to use all of that at once until we get to a hospital," Roach advised, unclipping a second tube of lotion for himself.

Ghost didn't respond at first, instead rolling up his sleeves and slathering his burnt and peeling skin in the cool, soothing ointment. "Ahh... I needed that. Please don't do anything else nice for me, Roach- I don't like owing people favors."

The two shared a laugh, until Ghost erupted into yet another bloody coughing fit.

Roach was at his side in an instant. "Fuck, those painkillers aren't gonna last," he said urgently, slinging the gun bag back over one arm and helping support Ghost's weight with the other. "Come on, up we go... I think it's about time we should leave..."

"I'm thankful for the pills and the ointment, but yeah, getting that bullet outta me should take priority..." Ghost moaned.

Roach was mentally kicking himself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid... I thought the painkillers would help more, that maybe they'd stabilize you or something..."

"Roach?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm no medic either, and I don't blame you for trying to help. Now shut up and drive us the hell outta here."

The wounded duo exited out into the front driveway and hobbled over to the truck Roach had found earlier.

"Gladly, bud."

They made it to within feet of the truck, when suddenly...

_**"Krilot Hun Lein! Keizaal Qostiid Heyv! Akatosh Kogaan Grah-Zeymahzin!"**_

Roach and Ghost both fell to the ground screaming and cradling their heads in their hands when the voice spoke to them. Whatever it was, it was powerful- very powerful. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, and as it continued to speak, the pressure in their skulls increased until both soldiers felt their heads would split wide open. Whoever was speaking obviously wasn't a normal human being. Actually, it sounded like something... bigger. Something...

Divine.

_Godly._

The two Task Force 141 members struggled and thrashed against nothing, still screaming at the tops of their lungs as though they had just seen into the deepest layers of Hell itself. After what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few seconds, their violent spasms ceased.

The sun peeked through the clouds over the Georgian-Russian border, shining brilliant sunlight down on the truly empty safe house.

* * *

**(Several hours later)**

Sergeant Gary Sanderson was awoken by the sunlight tickling his nose. Groaning, he sat up and rubbed his throbbing head, wondering if those painkillers had some kind of ludicrously dangerous side effects he hadn't bothered to read on the label. Considering the kind of crap he saw on television these days, that possibility didn't seem too far-fetched. Ghost was sprawled out on the grass nearby, groaning, and the gun bag laid undisturbed next to him.

Wait a minute. Grass? Hadn't they had their drug-induced seizure on a dirt driveway?

Indeed, their surroundings had changed significantly. Instead of an estate built by a lake, they were now surrounded by tall trees in the middle of a thick forest.

Roach began to panic. How did they get there? Had they been kidnapped? If so, why hadn't the Russians taken their sack of guns? Even more puzzling, why were they in a small forest clearing, and not a POW camp? And where were their captors, anyway?

The operative sprang to his feet, drawing his knife and taking on a combat-ready stance in preparation for an ambush. Nothing happened. And that's when he noticed the second major oddity: He was feeling fine.

Just a few hours ago, Roach had been shot point-blank in the stomach, got set on fire, and was left to die in a ditch by a traitorous madman. He remembered the nearly overwhelming pain he had been in between that moment and the driveway incident. But as he examined his person, he didn't see the bullet wound or any burn marks on his skin. His woodland camo outfit was in pristine condition, too- rugged yet clean, as if it had just came off the assembly line.

Something definitely wasn't right here. Keeping his senses on full alert, Roach approached the still sleeping Ghost and gently shook his arm. "Ghost, wake up... Ghost. Come on, something's wrong, wake up!"

Ghost jerked awake without warning and his eyes snapped open under his sunglasses. Slowly getting to his feet, the lieutenant searched through the pockets of his pants for his skull mask, soon finding it and pulling it over his face where it belonged.

"Welcome back, baby... Oh, hey Roach." he greeted sleepily.

Roach stayed silent, fixing his gaze on the other man's balaclava. He knew for a fact that it was covered in blood before, but now it was clean.

"Yeah... hi. How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I just spent the night at some teenage kid's house party, and..." Ghost trailed off as his mind made the same connection Roach's did. "And... I feel good. Great, actually."

Ghost patted his hands around his chest, then checked his collarbone for a bullet hole. Nothing. Like Roach, Ghost too had been miraculously healed of any and all injuries. The two TF 141 soldiers stared at each other, trying and failing to come up with a logical explanation for what had happened.

"... Roach?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I the only one who's more than a little spooked right now?"

Roach shook his head. "I don't like this any more than you do. In all honesty, I'm scared shitless... Let's take the guns and get moving. The sooner we find out where we are, the better."

Ghost nodded in agreement, then unzipped the bag containing their only weapons and began to sort through it. Ten minutes later the duo were armed to the teeth; Roach carried an M240 light machine gun with an ACOG scope optical attachment, a Barrett .50cal sniper rifle slung over his back, and a silenced USP .45 handgun in his holster. Ghost was sporting his much beloved ACR assault rifle with an underbarrel grenade launcher, an M1014 tactical shotgun, and dual G18 machine pistols. All that was left in the bag was a heartbeat sensor and a red dot sight, which the two pocketed in case they might be needed later.

"So, which way should we go?" Roach asked when they were fully geared up.

"Assuming we're still by the border in Russia, I say we head north. It's pretty likely we'll find a road or highway that could lead us to civilization." Ghost answered. "Too bad my radio melted in the fire... Huh. That's odd; my GPS is down."

"Mine too," Roach added, checking the digital device. "Good thing I learned how to read a compass. Come on, north is... this way!"

As the two began their trek, Ghost couldn't help but mutter to himself, "A compass? Seriously, who uses those things anymore...?"

* * *

The wilderness was eerily quiet as the two soldiers marched through it, but that was about to change

"Ghost, we've been walking through these woods for almost half an hour now," Roach stated. "Do you want to stop and maybe look for- OOF!"

Something- or rather, some_one_- fell out of a tree above Roach and effortlessly pinned him to the ground. Before Ghost could react, a second unknown hostile snagged him in a similar entrapment.

The strangers quickly and efficiently bound Roach and Ghosts' hands behind their backs, before roughly hauling them to their feet. When he saw their attackers, Roach almost did a double take.

They were tan-skinned humans, one male and one female, with visible muscles and permanent scowls on their faces. But what really set them apart was their armor: They both wore red and brown tunics, brown leather boots, studded leather gauntlets, and hide cowls, like something you would see in the Middle Ages. Holstered on their waists were razor-sharp iron longswords.

"Speak, men of strange garb; where do you hail from?" the man barked as his female companion began to strip Roach and Ghost of their weapons.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MAKAROV'S BLOODY PISSHOLE IS GOING ON?!" Ghost screamed, vainly struggling to break free of his leather bonds.

_"Silence!"_ the apparently short-tempered man thundered.

"Smooth," Roach murmured calmly, though internally his heart was racing in pure fear.

The woman approached her accomplice from behind, her arms impressively carrying all of the heavy and strange weaponry she had gathered from their thoroughly confused captives.

"Murlson, these people were carrying some very odd items... I don't know if they're clubs or staves, or even weapons at all, but they're clearly very technologically advanced. Dwemer, maybe?"

"We'll figure that out later, Hilda." the man, Murlson, grunted. "Now speak, woodsmen! What do you think you're doing, crossing the border from Cyrodiil into Skyrim? You don't look like Nords... in fact, you don't look like Imperials, either. I ask again; where do you hail from?!"

Ghost answered as Hilda helped him and Roach get up off the ground. "The name's Simon Riley, Task Force 141, British SAS, 22nd Regiment. But you can call me Ghost. Now can I have my gun back?"

Murlson snickered. He suddenly lunged forward and connected a powerful punch to Ghost's jaw, knocking him unconscious instantly. Roach felt like vomiting.

"He isn't much of a ghost if he's not ethereal," Murlson growled. "And what is this blasphemy he was spewing forth? 'Task Force 141'? 'British SAS'? He must be from a different continent entirely."

He turned to face Roach. "You there! Perhaps you can explain why you and your friend were attempting to illegally cross the border between provinces?"

"Listen buddy, I don't know what kind of drugs you're on, or what medication you're not on, but what I do know is that I have absolutely no fucking idea what's going on here!" Roach shouted desperately, unaware that he had this kind of bite in him. "You and your fuck buddy just ambush us out of nowhere when we're lost and confused, tie our hands, steal our guns, and then you have the nerve to fucking sucker punch my best friend when he did nothing to provoke you?! God damn you! Just drop your stupid medieval act, point us in the direction of Afghanistan, and leave us the hell alone!"

When he was finished with his outburst, Roach stopped to take a few deep breaths, feeling oddly pleased with himself. Murlson and Hilda just stood in place, thunderstruck. Murlson was the first to recover, and he looked pissed.

"Wrong answer."

He reached his captive in two quick strides and, before Roach could turn and run, floored him with another punch.

"Do you really have to knock someone out every time you go out in public?" Hilda scowled as she put each of the strange weapons in a large burlap sack.

"Yes, but as long as I continue to capture criminals like these two, the Emperor will let it slide." Murlson grunted, hoisting up Roach and Ghosts' limp bodies in his muscular arms. "Now come on. We should go catch up with the caravan and tell them we have some more prisoners in tow. I'm sure General Tullius will be most pleased with out efforts when we arrive at Helgen."

"Kissass," Hilda muttered.

With that, the two Imperial scouts began their journey back to the caravan, unaware that that the two strange individuals they had picked up weren't from this world at all... and how they would soon become its only hope for survival.

* * *

**And there we have it; the first chapter of Call of Skyrim. I chose to do a CoD/The Elder Scrolls crossover because the whole concept is so implausible, so crazy, so downright stupid that I feel it simply ****_has _****to work. Next chapter, the events of Helgen Keep will play out, primarily from Ghost's point of view.**

**If you wanted to know what Akatosh (the dragon god of time) said, it was something along the lines of, "Hero duty Skyrim blah blah blah" or something similar. **

**One more thing; I did some research on the Internet, and apparently smoke grenades CAN put out fires in real life. I know some of you will disagree, but I think I created a very plausible theory as to how Roach and Ghost could've survived the events of Modern Warfare 2's most infamous level. If I were Roach, I'd fight to the bloody end to make it out of that pit alive.**

**Well, goodbye for now. I'm sorry if it wasn't great, but this is my first attempt at writing an action story, so bear with me.**


	2. Angry Dragon says ROAR

**Chapter 2: Problems, Answers, and More**** Problems**

It was a loud bump on the rocky trail that finally stirred Simon "Ghost" Riley awake. Shifting uncomfortably in the horse-drawn wagon where he sat, Ghost blinked under his sunglasses a few times as the world groggily came back into focus. He had no idea where he was or what was happening; the last thing he remembered was getting jumped by two wannabe knights and getting punched in the face. Adding to that, his hands were still bound tight, and the guns one of his attackers had taken were nowhere to be seen.

Taking a moment to look around, Ghost noticed that his surroundings had changed yet again. The thick forest landscape from before had receded somewhat, and tall mountains now surrounded the carriage in every direction he could see. Large boulders littered the ground next to the road. Topping it all off, the cart was flanked frontward and backwards by several Imperial soldiers riding horses, all led by a middle-aged man in fancy red armor.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." an unfamiliar voice spoke in a thick Norse accent.

Ghost set his eyes on another man sitting across from him. He was a powerfully built, blonde-haired man who was probably in his early to mid-thirties. He wore a blue and brown tunic with a layer of chainmail underneath, brown trousers, and leather boots.

The lieutenant said nothing, too dumbfounded to speak.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" the stranger asked, taking Ghost's silence as a signal to continue. "Same as us, along with that thief over there. You and your companion were captured by Imperial scouts, just as we were. Sad day when you can't freely walk into your own homeland..."

Ghost looked to his right and saw three other people in the wagon with them. The one seated next to him was bound and gagged, and looked to be the most unhappy out of anyone in the group. He had shoulder-length brown hair and wore a long fur coat with ornate armor underneath, steel gauntlets, black pants, and heavy steel boots. Ghost could easily conclude by his appearance that this man held some position of power in... wherever the hell they were.

The second man was much less appealing. Like the other two strangers, his brown hair was long and fairly tidy, but that was where the similarities ended. He was wearing a filthy brown sleeveless shirt, ragged brown trousers, and tan foot wrappings. The thief looked scared out of his wits, with a sickly expression painted on his dirt-smeared face.

Roach was jostling around, back and forth, on the floor of the carriage due to a lack of seating space. The scout from earlier must've slugged him hard since he hadn't yet awoken.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief hissed, "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy."

"Anyone care to explain what the hell he's talking about?" Ghost asked, annoyed with this whole situation he was now stuck in.

The blonde man raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't know?"

"If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell," the thief whined. He nodded in Ghost's direction. "You there. You and me- we shouldn't be here. It's the Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the blonde man said indifferently.

"Shut up back there!" the driver of the cart snapped.

Ghost sighed. He probably wasn't going to be getting any answers about his current predicament anytime soon, so for now he decided to just play along with whatever anyone else said. There'd be time for a proper interrogation later.

The haggard-looking thief gestured to the man with the gag around his mouth. "What's wrong with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue!" the first man barked. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

Ghost looked at Ulfric. Now this was just getting weird. High King?

"Sounds like you hold this Ulfric fellow in high regard," he said.

"Aye, that I do." the blonde Nord nodded.

"Wait... Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!" the thief exclaimed, surprised. "But if they've captured you, then... Oh gods, where are they taking us?!"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," the first man replied solemnly.

"Umm... yeah. Sovngarde. Not looking forward to going there anytime soon," Ghost added.

Their words only served to make the lowlife even more hysterical. "No, this can't be happening, this isn't happening!" he bawled pathetically.

"Hey... what village are you from, horse thief?" the blonde man asked, changing the subject.

"Why do you care?" the other man snapped.

"A Nord's last thoughts... should be of home."

"Oh. Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead." the thief muttered, eyes downtrodden.

The blonde man nodded sadly, then turned to face Ghost once more. "And what about you, woodsman? Where did you spend your boyhood?"

"Before I answer that, I have my own question for you," Ghost said craftily. "Have you ever heard of something called the Internet before?"

The Nord looked confused and intrigued at the same time. "Can't say I have. Tell me, what is this 'Internet' you speak of, and what does it have to do with anything?"

"The Internet is a... a deity from my homeland. It offers us mortals vast amounts of knowledge and entertainment, but it can also trick you and make your life miserable if you aren't careful of what you ask of it." Ghost replied half-truthfully. Inside, he felt a horrible sinking feeling in his gut. The stranger's answer confirmed the insane theory he had been suspecting- He wasn't in Russia anymore. Hell, he knew in the back of his mind that he wasn't even on _Earth _anymore, either.

"You know what, forget I said anything. You wouldn't know where I grew up if I told you."

His new friend eyed him curiously. "Aye. This Internet sounds remarkably similar to some of the Daedric Princes. And you don't seem to be from around these parts, judging from your attire and accent... What's your name?"

"My name is Simon. Simon Riley. But everyone calls me Ghost. My friend, the one on the floor, is called Roach." the operative said, giving his fellow soldier a light kick. Roach mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep.

"Ghost, huh? I can certainly see why some people would bestow you that label." the Nord chuckled lightly. "I'm Ralof, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Ralof. Shame it couldn't have been under better circumstances."

* * *

**(A few minutes later...)**

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" the head of the Imperial column called out. Another soldier who had been riding a horse behind their wagon spurred up beside it, taking a quick look at each of the helpless captives. Ghost thought he saw the Imperial's eye linger over Ralof for a second, but the rider moved ahead to talk with the carriage driver before his mind could draw a conclusion. The man soon moved back to his original position.

"Good. Let's get this over with," the aggravated-sounding head of the lance replied, most likely the general in question. The small convoy soon entered the front gates of a small town with high stone walls guarding it. Stone huts with thatched roofs, along with many curious citizens, populated the interior of the town.

_It's like something straight out of a history book,_ Ghost thought to himself as the cart moved through the main street. The thief, who had remained quiet for a few minutes, started freaking out again.

"Shor, Mala, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!" he wailed.

Ghost wasn't familiar with most of the entities listed, but one stuck out in his mind like a sore thumb: Akatosh. The booming voice that had mentally assaulted him and Roach back at the Russian-Georgian border had mentioned the very same word, or in this case, divine being. Was divine intervention from this strange world responsible for them being mysteriously transported there? Perhaps for some kind of heroic quest, like he had once dreamed of partaking in as a child?

No, that was just crazy. He and Roach were wounded special forces soldiers; nothing more, nothing less. They weren't anything magnificent compared to legends like Price or MacTavish.

Ralof, unlike the thief, remained perfectly calm by contrast, looking over to the horse-mounted general in disdain.

"Look at him; General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this," he spat bitterly.

Roach finally began to stir, clutching his head and moaning in pain. "Ugh... Ghost? What the bloody hell just happened?" he asked weakly.

Ghost shifted to his side, unintentionally bumping Ulfric Stormcloak as he did so (which earned him an icy glare from the Jarl that went unnoticed), and helped his dazed comrade into the small seat.

"It's complicated, Roach. I'll explain more to you when I have the time," Ghost promised.

Roach looked at the others in the cart, then scanned the surrounding village. "... Meh, fine. I followed Captain MacTavish into that mountain base in Kazakhstan; I'll follow you in Ye Olde Weird Village."

Ralof gave a quick nod to the newly awakened sergeant. His eyes followed Roach's over the town. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in," he reminisced.

The carriage was drawing up close to a medium-sized stone tower with a small crowd gathered out front.

"Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe," Ralof continued. To Ghost, it felt like the Nord was talking more to himself now than any of them. On the porch of one of the houses, a small boy tugged at his father's tunic.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" he asked innocently.

"You need to inside, little cub," the father responded nervously.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers!" the boy protested.

The father shook his head and ushered his son through the front door. "Inside the house. Now."

At long last, the cart pulled up beside the tower. Imperial and Stormcloak soldiers alike milled about everywhere, though each of the Stormcloaks had his or her hands bound together. More prisoners. Tullius dismounted his horse and stood off to the side, looking impatient, while a female soldier clad in heavy steel armor shouted out orders. A captian, if Ghost had to guess.

"Wh-Why are we stopping?" the thief whimpered.

"What do you think? End of the line." Ralof snorted, still as calm and collected as ever. Roach's head snapped sideways to face Ghost, eyes wide under his goggles. Ghost could only shrug helplessly.

"Let's go. The gods are waiting for us."

The thief, now desperate beyond measure, started pleading to the Imperial soldiers approaching the cart.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief!" Ralof thundered. The prisoners were now being escorted off the wagon in single file.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" the thief begged to Ghost and Roach. The two glanced at each other, then turned back to the pitiful man.

"You're right; this is a mistake. But based on what I've seen and heard, you probably _deserve _to die anyway." Ghost commented.

The thief nearly wet himself in terror. He stepped away from the two, shoulders shaking as he was wracked up in sobs.

"Wait, what's this about dying?" Roach asked in a frightened whisper.

Ghost shrugged. "I honestly don't know, Roach. Man, if I survive these next few minutes, I'm going to interrogate the shit out of that Ralof guy..."

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!" the female captain shouted. The soldier who had given Ralof the stink eye earlier stood next to the captain with a small book and a quill in hand. He restlessly shifted his weight from one leg to the other, as if wanting to get this whole thing over with as quickly as possible.

"Empire loves their damn lists," Ralof scowled with contempt. The Imperial cleared his throat and looked down at the book.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," he read. The Jarl in question calmly moved to join another small group of prisoners, giving the Imperials an icy glare the whole time.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said graciously with a small bow.

"Ralof of Riverwood," the soldier continued. Ghost noticed a small smile creep up on the man's face as he read Ralof's name. Clearly those two must've had history.

Ralof dramatically flipped his hair for show as he walked over to the doomed men and women.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief's fear finally got the better of him. "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

He turned and made a last-ditch break for freedom back down the road.

"Halt!" the captain screeched. Lokir ignored her and kept running.

"You're not going to kill me!" he called back in a deranged laugh.

The captain sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Not another one... Archers!"

Ghost and Roach cringed as Lokir had about half a dozen arrows shot into his back.

"Sucks to be him," Ghost remarked.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the captain barked. Everyone stared at the ground and muttered several muffled no's. The soldier with the book checked it once more, then looked up at Ghost and Roach.

"Wait. You two. Step forward." he ordered.

Ghost complied fearlessly. Roach followed, though he looked less than brave doing so.

"Who are you?"

"Last person to ask me that was some hot-headed barbarian who knocked me out cold when I told him who I was. The next thing I know, I'm on a cart headed for an execution I did nothing to warrant." Ghost replied acidly. "I'm not entitled to tell you anything."

From the side, Ulfric Stormcloak raised an eyebrow. This strange man, with the unfamiliar accent and unknown equipment, spoke out against the Empire when one of its highest-ranking generals was watching? He would've made a fine addition to the rebel army.

"How the fuck where we supposed to know where this 'border' was located, anyway? All we saw was a forest." Roach added. "Please, could you just let us go and be on our way? This is all a huge misunderstanding. We promise you no further trouble."

His companion, on the other hand...

"Captain, what should we do? Rebels or not, they have a point. There are no more names on the list." the soldier asked.

The Imperial captain, however, was too busy glaring at Ghost to pay much attention to her subbordinate. How dare this masked foreigner insult the great Mede Empire!

"Forget the list, they go to the block!" she shouted furiously.

"I humbly approve that notion," General Tullius added, voice laced with venom. As the two lost Task Force 141 members moved into the group to stand near Ralof, the Imperial Legion's leader next turned his wrath to Jarl Ulfric.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Tullius stated.

Ulfric just gave a muffled grunt from underneath his gag, trying to bore through his mortal enemy's head with those laser-like eyes.

"Whoa, back up, what did this guy do again?" Ghost whispered to Ralof.

"The right thing," the Nord whispered back.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!" Tullius declared. The Imperial soldiers cheered.

Roach's ears picked up an odd sound amidst the celebration: A strange, distant roar that echoed around the surrounding mountains. His gut instict told him to flee, but his feet disobeyed, staying rooted to the ground. He didn't want to end up like poor Lokir.

The others apparently heard it, too. "What was that?" the soldier with the list asked.

"It's nothing. Carry on..." Tullius ordered, brushing it off.

"Yes, General Tullius. Give them their last rights," the captain commanded to a waiting priestess.

The robed woman nodded under the shadow of her hood, raising her hands to the sky and beginning to recite a speech. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-"

"For the love of Talos, just shut up and let's get this over with!" a red-haired Stormcloak interrupted, stepping forward defiantly. For some reason he had become quite annoyed at the mention of the 'Eight Divines'.

"As you wish," the priestess said coldly.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning!" the Stormcloak soldier raved. The captain, fed up with all the disorder at what was supposed to be a simple execution, roughly pushed him to the ground and forced his head onto the block with her steel-clad foot.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

Those were his last words. The executioner raised his massive double-handed axe into the air, then brought it down with a clear cut that cleaved the man's smiling head right off his shoulders. Blood spurted from the neck as the head fell into a small basket.

"You Imperial bastards!" a female Stormcloak screamed from somewhere in the group.

"Justice!" a man on the street yelled. Roach forced himself to swallow the putrid vomit building up in his throat.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof commented sadly.

"Pssst... Roach. Ralof. I have a plan," Ghost murmured while the captain kicked the lifeless corpse aside. "Right before the next person gets executed, start causing a scene. Kick the guards, do anything to start a riot. We'll grab Ulfric and escape before anyone can restore order."

"I like that plan." Ralof nodded.

"What about our guns? We still haven't found them," Roach asked.

"Survival's more important than any weapon." Ghost said sagely.

"Next, the skull-faced ma-" the captain was cut off by another roar. Only this time it was louder, and sounded a lot closer than before.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" the Imperial with the book persisted.

"I said, next prisoner!" the captain yelled. She shot a look in Ghost's direction.

"Aw shit," the lieutenant muttered.

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

Roach's heart threatened to burst out of his chest as he watched his friend being led to the block. The sergeant saved them both from death, but all the good it did for them was add a few extra hours to their lives. Now here they were, stuck in some kind of weird fantasy land where nothing made sense to him, about to get their heads chopped off as opposed to dying in a firey ditch. They had Ghost's plan to fall back on, of course; though Roach severely doubted they would get very far before they were captured again... or killed on the spot.

The captain shoved Ghost's head onto the block. Stubbornly, he turned his head to face his soon-to-be killer dead in the eye, the imposing stone tower and mountains decorating the background behind him. Ghost had to admit that, despite not having a damn clue where he was, the land looked truly beautiful in the morning sunlight.

The executioner raised his bloodstained axe once more. Time for action.

"Roach, now!"

An enormous shape suddenly fell from the sky and landed on the tower's roof. The force of the landing caused the executioner to stumble, dropping his axe in the process.

"What in Oblivion is that!" someone yelled.

Seizing this lucky opportunity, Ghost hastily got up and cracked his still attached neck.

"Wow guys, what the hell kind of distraction did you- OH MY GOD!"

**"DRAGON!" **the Imperial captain screamed.

The dragon took a deep breath and exhaled a strong torrent of fire and magical energy. The entire town of Helgen was instantly set ablaze, while dark storm clouds gathered up overhead. Any chance of the execution continuing was abandoned as the mythical creature continued its assault, unleashing more flames while archers' arrows harmlessly bounced off its scaly hide.

"Ghost! Roach! Let's hurry; the gods won't give us another chance!" Ralof shouted over the screams of paniced civilians. He grabbed the two by their arms and made a beeline for the keep.

"This way! Come on!"

The trio entered the stone tower, barely making it inside before another blast of heat and flame scorched the ground they had been standing on. On the hay-strewn floor lied a dead soldier and a wounded Stormcloak. Ulfric was also present, having discarded his gag and panting heavily.

"Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof said after a brief salute. "What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric grunted. His voice sounded unnaturally powerful, even for a ruler.

"Legends? What, you mean that slaughterfests getting interrupted by dragons who cause even more death doesn't happen often here?" Ghost asked sarcastically.

Ralof shook his head. "Nay, dragons haven't been sighted in centuries. This is all new to us."

"I could say the same," Roach muttered. Another harsh roar echoed from outside.

"We need to move, now!" the Jarl of Windhelm commanded.

"Up through the tower, let's go you two!" Ralof ordered. Ghost and Roach obeyed by instinct thanks to years of military service, following him up a winding spiral staircase. Unfortunately the top level of the tower was blocked off by collapsed rubble; another Stormcloak was was trying to shift the rocks, but he wasn't having much luck.

"We just need to move..."

Before they could react, the dragon burst through the wall, knocking the three to the ground. Clinging to the outside of the tower with its lethally sharp talons, the beast stuck its head inside and breathed another white-hot jet of flame intermixed with a roar.

Roach, however, didn't hear a roar. Instead he heard words, spoken in an eerily familiar tongue.

_**"Yul Toor Shul!"**_

"Roach, get back!" Ghost shouted. He literally pulled his friend out of the line of fire before he was incinerated.

The dragon, not bothering to check if it had killed anyone, flew off to give those pesky archers a piece of its mind.

Ghost smacked the sergeant on his shoulder. "Roach, you okay?"

"Physically, yeah. Mentally, not so sure." Roach answered shakily.

"You'll be fine, lad." Ralof added. "Now, see the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!"

Roach looked down outside. "You mean the one that's on fire?"

"What about you?" Ghost asked, ignoring his comrade.

Ralof shrugged. "I'll catch up."

"Oh... m'kay."

"Go! Ulfric and I will follow you when we can!"

Ghost fearlessly jumped down to the burning inn's second floor. Roach hesitated for a moment, but eventually jumped as well. Navigating their way through the fire and smoke, the two operatives soon descended down a flight of stairs and exited through the front enterance. The ruined inn collapsed in a pile of flaming straw and wood seconds after they made it out.

"Well, that was lucky," Ghost quipped.

"Hamming, get over here! Now!" a familiar voice shouted. The Imperial soldier from before was helping the same young boy who had wanted to watch the execution find shelter. The boy was crying and tightly clutching his injured right arm.

"That a boy, you're doing great!" the Imperial coaxed.

_**"Yul Toor Shul!"**_

Once again, only Roach heard the words, and once again Ghost had to yank his ass out of the fire's path.

"Gods!" the soldier exclaimed, shielding the boy with his body. "Everyone get back!"

At least this soldier seemed to have some humanity in him. Once the boy's father had been found, the Imperial noticed the two escaped prisoners nearby.

"Still alive, prisoners? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."

He turned back to the father and his frightened son. "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar." the man said gratefully.

The heroic soldier, Hadvar, motioned for Roach and Ghost to follow him. Making a mad dash across the open plaza, he led them to a shadowed alleyway and cautiously made his way through it.

"That was a very brave thing you did back there," Ghost complimented.

"Don't mention it." Hadvar replied, not bothering to look back. Ghost didn't blame him; this entire town was now a combat zone, and he had to stay on full alert.

Roach suddenly perked up, having stayed quiet for a few minutes. "Guys, stay close to the wall! I hear something big coming!"

The trio flattened themselves against the wall just before the dragon landed on top of it and stretched its reptillian snout overhead. Huge, leathery wings spread outward as the creature drew breath.

_**"Yul Toor Shul!"**_ it roared again.

"You guys are hearing this, right?" Roach asked frantically.

Ghost glanced back at him. "Hearing what? That loud fucking roar? Yeah, obviously!"

"Quickly, follow me!" Hadvar commanded. The three soldiers began another run through the corpse-ridden streets. The dragon was now occupied with the Imperial warrior trapped in its maw, flailing and biting on its unlucky victim like a dog with a chew toy.

"It's you and me, prisoners. Stay close!"

"You know, technically we're not your prisoners anymore," Ghost commented. As they ran towards the keep, he and Roach spotted Ralof emerging from a different alleyway. Ulfric wasn't with him.

Hadvar immediately grew furious at the sight. "Ralof you damn traitor! Out of the way!" he barked.

"We're escaping, Hadvar!" Ralof yelled back. "You're not stopping us this time!"

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

So that's why Hadvar had been so hostile to Ralof on the way to the town, Ghost realized. The two were familiar with each other, but it was beyond obvious that they weren't on good terms anymore.

The two men simultaneously faced the lost Brits. "What are you waiting for? Come on prisoners, into the keep!" Hadvar ordered.

"No, this way! We'll be free!" Ralof argued, heading for a different door to the keep's interior.

While Roach seemed unsure, Ghost looked between them. "... Yeah, I'm going with Ralof. Bye Hadvar."

The Imperial tried to talk, but sputtered over his words in rage. Finally he forced out a sentence.

"You're going to regret this, traitors! Mark my words!"

Hadvar spun around and fled back down the alleyway.

* * *

Ralof, Ghost, and Roach quickly filed through the door before the Nord slammed it shut behind them. The three found themselves in a room mostly decorated with Imperial banners. A dead Stormcloak soldier was slumped on the ground near a small table.

"We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother." Ralof said quietly, kneeling down and gently closing the man's eyelids with one hand. He stood up and looked back at his two followers.

"Looks like we're the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends... the harbingers of the End Times," he murmured, again speaking more to himself.

"... What." Roach said flatly.

Ralof shook his head. "I'll explain more later; for now we better get moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off."

"Finally! Those things are giving me some serious rope burn!" Ghost exclaimed in glee.

Taking a dagger off the table, the muscular Nord carefully cut through Ghost's bindings, then Roach's. "There you go."

"So what's the plan now?" the lieutenant probed.

"First we find a way out of the keep." He nodded at the dead Stormcloak. "You may as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it any more."

The soldiers obeyed and began searching through the fallen man's belongings. Not wanting to get rid of their woodland camoflage outfits, they instead focused on looting any weapons they could find. Roach found another iron dagger that would perfectly compliment his knife in quick close-quarters combat. Ghost, on the other hand, went with an iron war axe.

When he saw the questioning look his comrade gave him, he merely responded with, "It's a freaking axe. I want it."

"Go ahead and give it a few swings; I'm going to see if I can find some way out of here." Ralof instructed, examining a nearby gate. "Hmm... this one's locked. Let's see about that gate."

Roach followed him while Ghost split the table in two for his own amusement. "Damn! No way to open this from our side."

"So we're trapped?" Roach gulped.

"Seems like it... hold on. I hear footsteps coming from the other side! Quick, both of you find a place to hide! I have a plan!"

In a flash, the Task Force 141 members pressed their backs against either side of the gate. Ralof intentionally remained in the open where he could be seen, waving at the Imperial squad as they came into view around a corner.

"Hey! Guess who just escaped your execution?! This guy did!" he taunted.

"It's him! Open the gate and kill that son of a bitch!" a voice shouted. The captain's voice.

From his hiding spot in the darkness, Ghost smiled wickedly. Time for some payback.

The moment the gate lowered and the soldiers stepped through, Ghost and Roach made their move. Roach immediately lunged from his spot against the wall, then stabbed his dagger into one guard's back. Before she could cry out, the sergeant quickly and quietly slit her throat with his combat knife.

Ghost just violently cleaved his axe though the other guard's skull. As he fell, Ralof ducked under the Imperial captain's sword swipe and snatched the greatsword he held from his limp hands. Letting out a mighty battle cry, the Nord stretched to his full height, then gave a brutally powerful swing that instantly decapitated the captain. Her corpse hit the ground with an armored crash.

"Phew... that was fun," Ghost chuckled in between a few pants. "I- Hey, aren't these the goons who knocked us out?"

Upon closer inspection, the two soldiers realized that the guards accompanying the late captain were, indeed, Murlson and Hilda.

"Huh, so they are," Roach quipped.

Ignoring them, Ralof bent down and fished through the pockets of the captain's now-headless body. His searching awarded a small brass key.

"Let's try this out..." he muttered, moving back to the locked gate and inserting it into the keyhole. An audible click echoed inside the room, and the door lazily swung open. "That's it! Come on, let's all get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads."

The trio exited the room and descended a flight of stairs on the other side. They navigated through a set of twisting hallways for a minute, until another roar shook the entire underground.

"Look out!" Ghost warned, backing away moments before a portion of the ceiling collapsed in front of them.

"Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy," Ralof growled.

Passing through an adjacent door, the three found themselves in a much more spacious area than before. Two more Imperial soldiers noticed the intruders inside.

"It's them! It's-!"

Before he could alert any reinforcements, one of the soldiers was impaled in the eye by an expertly thrown dagger courtesy of Roach. The other man was easily taken down by a simple flanking maneuver by Ghost while Ralof engaged him head on as a distraction.

After Roach recovered his dagger, they pressed forward into the next room. It was filled with crates, barrels, sacks, and other scattered containers. A large, locked wooden chest sat tucked away in a corner.

"A storeroom! See if you can find any potions. We'll need them." said Ralof.

He stood guard while the duo rummaged through the stockpiled items. Roach checked the barrels and found a few small red bottles, some cheese, several apples, and one green bottle. He pocketed each of those items in case they might be needed later.

While his companion moved about, Ghost went to work on the locked chest. The lock ultimately proved useless as the lieutenant's boot stomped down on the wood, eventually breaking through it.

The skull pattern on his balaclava did all the malevolent grinning for him when he saw what was inside the chest.

"Roach? Roach, I found them! I found our guns!"

"Seriously?" Roach asked exitedly, jogging over to see for himself.

Sure enough, all of their lost equipment was stored safely inside the broken chest. Ralof watched from the side in confusion as the two operatives eagerly looted the container of every strange item they could get their hands on.

What those mechanical objects did, Ralof had no idea, but he didn't care. As long as whatever they were helped them get out of the keep alive, he wasn't about to complain.

"Done? Let's get moving." he declared.

Another flight of stairs led them somewhere far less pleasant. Skeletons hung in cages suspended from the ceiling, and corpses in various stages of decay sat locked up in tiny cells. Barbaric torture devices prompted Ralof to state the obvious.

"Troll's blood! It's a torture room!" the blonde man gasped in shock and horror.

Ghost looked around. "Meh, I've seen worse."

The sound of combat close by caught their attention. The three warriors rounded a corner just in time to witness a few Stormcloak soldiers slay a man in dark robes- the torturer, obviously- and his assistant. A female Stormcloak noticed the new arrivals and walked over to greet them.

"They weren't going to keep _us _in chains," she smirked. "Some help would've been nice, but fortunately we didn't suffer any casualties."

"Glad to see you alive, sister." Ralof bowed. "Was Jarl Ulfric with you?"

The woman shook her head. "No. I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up."

"Hm. Let's just keep going, then." the muscular Nord grunted.

"We'll come with you," another Stormcloak piped up.

"Alright, sweet. The more the merrier." Ghost chimed in.

In total, there were three Stormcloaks. The six of them moved deeper through the torture chambers- Roach once again tried to refrain from puking- before travelling down a small tunnel that led even deeper into Helgen Keep. Eventually they emerged into a large cavern with raised wooden walkways.

A total of ten Imperial soldiers, accompanied by another five archers, were waiting for them.

"There they are!"

"Kill the Stormcloaks!"

"We outnumber them!"

"Oh sweet Arkay is that a ghost?!"

"Ah hell..." muttered Ghost. "Roach, are you ready to show these bastards why it's a really bad idea to mess with the 141?"

Roach lifted up his M240 machine gun and took aim down the sights. "After seeing that torture room? Thought you'd never ask."

Ghost nodded and raised his ACR at the archers notching their arrows on the opposite side of the cave.

_"Open fire!"_

Thunder erupted in the cavern as the two soldiers unleashed hell. Before the Imperials could react, half of their number had been cut down by a hail of 7.62x51mm NATO rounds from Roach's machine gun. The bullets pierced through their armor and flesh like wet paper, creating a hilariously over-the-top spectacle of bloodshed and gore. The archers fared little better; nearly all of them were gunned down by the precision bursts of Ghost's assault rifle. Only one archer had managed to fire an arrow, but it went way off course as another bullet found its way inside his throat.

The remaining soldiers, once the initial chaos had died down somewhat, decided that their lives were more important than their pride and turned to flee. They didn't get very far. The combined firepower of both automatic weapons killed another four Imperials before they could reach the cavern's exit.

Roach holstered the M240 and pulled out his pistol. Exhaling a breath he hadn't known he was holding, he took steady aim and pulled the trigger. The round drilled straight through the back of the last man's skull and he slumped downward. He was dead before he hit the ground.

With the massacre complete, the Stormcloaks simply gazed at the mysterious foreigners with mixed expressions of wonder, bewilderment, and fear.

"Wh-What in Kynareth's holy name was that?" one man whispered. "You just wiped out a whole squad of General Tullius' soldiers in seconds! What are those strange weapons of thunder you carry?"

"Uhh... guns?" shrugged Ghost. "Standard issue where we come from."

"Well, they certainly get the job done." Ralof noted. "But we can discuss that later. We still need to get out of the underground as soon as possible."

The female Stormcloak approached him. "The boys and I shall stay behind, brother. We'll make sure none of Tullius' men follow you, and maybe see if Ulfric passes through here. Talos guide the three of you."

"And you as well, sister in arms." Ralof said gratefully. He led Ghost and Roach through a natural doorway out of the cavern and over to a drawbridge. "Come on. Let's see where this goes."

Roach pulled a lever to lower the bridge. Continuing forward, the trio soon found themselves in a beautiful cave with an underground river flowing through it.

Ghost whistled. "Nice place. We had nothing like this back in-"

An angry roar from the surface cut him off. Just like last time, dust fell from the ceiling moments before a portion of it collapsed into rubble over the doorway they had just come through.

"No going back that way, now. Guess we don't need the Stormcloaks guarding us anymore," Ralof sighed. "We'd better push on. The rest of them will have to find another way out."

"Most of the Imperials seemed occupied with that dragon; I think they'll be fine as long as they don't run into any stragglers." Roach assured him.

The end of the river unfortunately led to a metal grate blocking the way forward. "Hmm... there has to be some way around this," Ralof mused.

Ghost doubled back to check for an alternate route, and in addition to some gold coins and another red potion they had missed earlier, he found a short tunnel leading away from the river.

"Here, let's try this way. I think we're getting close to an exit!" the lieutenant called to his travelling buddies.

The tunnel, however, led them straight into a massive spider's den. Mummified corpses wrapped in webbing swayed back and forth ominously from the ceiling, and large egg sacs dotted the walls.

To make matters worse, the den was occupied. Large creatures that resembled overgrown tarantulas emerged from their hiding spots, each of their eight eyes fixed on their prey and fangs dripping venom.

"... 'Course, I've been wrong before." Ghost said. He unclipped the dual G18 machine pistols from his belt even as Roach got his machine gun ready. Ralof readied his greatsword in preparation to strike.

"Frostbite spiders! Don't let them get close; their venom can take down even the hardiest of men!" the Nord warned.

"You heard the man, Roach! Kill these eight-legged freaks!" Ghost shouted, already lighting up the dark cave with gunfire.

To put it short, the frostbite spiders stood about as much chance as the Imperials did against their attackers. They were all dead within seconds.

"I hate those damn things. Too many eyes, you know?" Ralof commented as he removed his sword from an unlucky spider's head.

"Hey Ghost, I just realized something important," Roach chimed in. "If we really are in some kind of backwards medieval fantasy land, then there's no way for us to get more ammunition for our guns. If we run out, then that's it."

"... Damn, you're right." sighed Ghost. "Fine. I guess that just means we'll have to prioritize our targets from now on."

Roach shrugged. "If it helps, then at least you'll get to use that axe more often."

A short walk later led them back to the river. The cave had opened up quite a bit; among the things laying around were an abandoned wooden cart stuffed with ale, a rusted iron helmet, a small pouch of gold... and an enormous grizzly bear preparing to settle down for a nap.

"Hold up. There's a bear just ahead. See her?" whispered Ralof.

"Duh." Ghost replied while inwardly thinking, _Does every damn thing in here besides the Stormcloaks want to kill us?_

Roach unholstered his Barrett .50cal sniper rifle and looked through the scope. "I have a clean line of sight for a headshot. Want me to put her down?"

"I'd rather not tangle with her right now." Ralof frowned. "Let's try to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch where you step."

He then looked at the sergeant and added, "Or if you're feeling lucky, you can try to kill it. Might take her by surprise."

Roach pondered over his words for a moment. Then he reholstered his rifle. "Nah. I don't want to waste ammo if I can help it. Sneaking it is."

"Go ahead. I'll follow your lead and watch your backs." Ralof promised.

The trio of warriors crouched down and slowly began to make their way past the sleeping grizzly. A few times it snored or moved around, making them freeze in place and gaze at it expectantly, but it never awoke.

"Nice and easy now..." Ralof breathed.

They moved another few feet down the path.

"Almost there..."

Finally, after what seemed like forever, they made it past the bear's sightline. After taking a quick breather, the three men resumed their trek through the tunnels. Fortunately, they encountered no further nasty surprises.

A light in the distance soon drew their attention.

"That looks like the way out! I knew we'd make it!" Ralof exclaimed in joy.

Ghost and Roach fist-bumped; another minor victory for Task Force 141.

* * *

The three of them emerged from the keep's exit on the side of a snowy mountain peppered with evergreen trees. A very familiar roar suddenly rocked the earth, shaking some loose snow off the trees.

"Wait!" Ralof ordered, taking cover behind a nearby boulder.

Roach and Ghost quickly joined him in hiding. The dragon from earlier, its quest for destruction complete for now, suddenly flew by over the mountaintops and into the distant horizon.

"There he goes. Looks like he's gone for good this time." Ralof said with a sigh of relief.

"He'd better run. Now that I have my gun back, he'd better not expect me to run away next time." growled Ghost.

Roach remained silent, his mind flashing back to the dragon's odd chant earlier.

_Yul Toor Shul._

What in the name of Price's beard did that mean?

Ralof interrupted his thoughs. "No way to know if anyone else made it out alive. But this place is ging to be swarming with Imperials soon 'd better clear out of hear."

"So what should we do now?" Ghost asked.

"My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she'd help you out." Ralof replied. "It's probably best if we split up. Good luck, gentlemen. I wouldn't have made it without your help today."

"No way, Ralof. We're sticking together for now, at least until we reach this Riverwood place." Ghost said firmly. "And while we walk there, I'm going to ask you a couple of questions about where we are. And you're going to answer them."

Ralof's expression was unreadable when he answered.

"... Fine. I'll tell you everything I can."

* * *

**Okay, first off... HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYBODY! (And if the Internet were an actual being, I bet it'd look like Gene Simmons... you know, that guy from KISS with the tongue.) **

**Now that that's out of my system, there isn't much else I have to say. Review, maybe? (Reviews = Motivation) That, and I'm not really sure what story I'll update next. Whatever I feel inspired to write for.**

**Next chapter will focus on Roach once more. This time, our brave heroes will explore the town of Riverwood, then tackle the challenges of Bleak Falls Barrow! **


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